


mr. spider

by Another_Freak1258



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adorable Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Humanoid Insects, Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Bottom Peter Parker, Butterfly Peter Parker, Consent Issues, Eggpreg, Food chain, LOTS of pet names for Peter, M/M, Socially Challenged Tony Stark, Spider Tony Stark, monster cock, not anatomically correct spider genitalia, this isn’t a dark story just problematic circumstances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-05-07 12:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19209490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Another_Freak1258/pseuds/Another_Freak1258
Summary: Peter, a young butterfly infamous for his reckless tendencies and insatiable appetite for the exotic, unintentionally develops a crush on a spider who doesn’t even know of his existence.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no real way to explain where I get my ideas. Hope you’re as crazy as I am and enjoy this freak show...

Peter doesn’t like to play into all the stereotypes about butterflies. Not  all  butterflies are ditzy, exploratory, or even _friendly_ for  that matter. The conflicting evidence is too strong; every butterfly Peter knows debunk these presumptions after a single conversation. As they should! Stereotypes, while occasionally built on truth, promote nothing but social division, and in this world that can be the difference between life and death. Which doesn’t bring Peter any comfort at night, because he’s unironically a manifestation of all these cliques.

 

Although Peter can only vaguely recall his childhood, May insists he was a troublesome caterpillar too. Always wondering off much further than he was allowed, always nibbling on things he had no business nibbling on. Which, if you told anyone, would comment that Peter hasn’t changed much. 

 

It brings him no joy to support an age-old notion that butterflies are dumb and restless, but it’s just who Peter is at heart. It makes him sad that people perceive his curiosity as foolishness, his kindness as naivety, and his wanderlust as recklessness. This reputation allows him very few friends, but Peter would rather have a handful of good friends than a bunch of fake ones. But not even Ned is willing to accompany him on his little ‘adventures’ (May’s description, not Peter’s) outside the colony. Which doesn’t bother the butterfly very much, because truthfully it’s easier to look out for danger when he’s only got himself to worry about. 

 

Danger comes in many forms. Weather, predators, and being geographically-challenged are only a few. May’s not worried Peter will get lost, but that something will catch him off guard and he will be captured. A very valid, warranted concern. Peter does his best to adhere to her advice, stuff she told him when she realized he wasn’t going to stop: don’t fly too high up, don’t talk to strangers, don’t get caught out in the rain, and don’t stay in one place for too long.

 

Typically Peter has no problem following her advice. More often than not an interesting discovery becomes less interesting as the seconds tick by, so Peter moves on. But every now and then his curiosity gets the best of him. 

 

There’s a place Peter has found where he goes to do his deep thinking, goes to whenever the bustle of the colony gets to be too much and he has to escape. It’s hidden by a canopy of leaves, but once you push those aside, there’s a decently sized grotto with moss and flowers and a deep cave system. Peter’s never gone into it beyond a few feet, though. He prefers to lay in the damp grass, fresh pollen stuck to his lips, and daydream. It’s the only place he habitually returns to, and while it’s by no means his property, Peter considers it his little get away.

 

And it is his, at least for a few months, before Peter notices webs littered around the area. 

 

In the insect world, webs are almost as scary to come across as the spider who weaved it. Webs mean  _danger, stay away, I’ll get you_ . It’s one of the first things you’re taught after escaping the chrysalis. You’d have to be stupid to hang around anywhere webs might be, let alone webs in plain sight. 

 

“Woah,” Peter breathes, pressing just the tip of his finger against a strand of webbing. It feels so soft and sticky. There’s more give than the butterfly would expect, but when he goes to pull his hand away it’s surprisingly difficult. Not impossible though, since it’s only the pad of his pointer. 

 

Fluttering back a bit to admire the intricate design of the web, Peter gasps. It’s so pretty! It surely took hours to perfect, but it’s out here in the open, where anyone could ruin it! 

 

_That’s the point_ , Peter’s hindbrain whispers.  _ It’s meant to fold in and wrap you up .  _

 

While Peter’s never been particularly good at listening to his hindbrain, he’s not completely oblivious to the implications this web brings with it. There’s a spider residing nearby Peter’s secret spot now, possibly  _in_   his secret spot, if he can work up the courage to check. It wouldn’t matter if there was or not, however. Any respectable insect would tell you, if you see a web, get away as far as you can. The specifics don’t matter as much as the proximity. 

 

So Peter, famously self-preserving and responsible, wraps his arms around his tummy loosely and looks around the isolated web for any clues that someone might be aware of his presence. There’s no immediate danger, but a lot of webbing.

 

Along where Peter used to be able to slide himself in between leaves is now covered, as well as other areas the butterfly can easily see someone unsuspecting land to take a quick rest. In fact, there’s a particular spot that draws Peter’s attention because he knows that leaf to bend under any pressure greater than a raindrop. He’s fallen down it himself a few times, caught by a larger leaf right below it and disposed gently onto the grass below. But now that leaf is missing, replaced with a thick net of spider silk. The ingenuity gives Peter shivers.

 

Despite the amount of traps, Peter is still able to find a safe passage to his grotto. It’s not as heavily webbed as the surrounding area, but the butterfly still watches his step very carefully. 

 

The entrance to the cave system is more foreboding than ever—it was never bright enough to discern anything other than rock, but even in the dim lighting Peter can tell the inside is generously coated with webbing. The sight is ominous and unnerving, but also the final nail in the coffin. This place is not safe anymore, and that’s disappointing to Peter.

 

Just as the butterfly is about to salvage a few flowers before returning home, a strand connected to the grass outside the cave starts to wiggle with increasing intensity. Peter can’t stop himself from gasping, and his wings twitch nervously behind him. He’s suddenly up to his ears with adrenaline, and leaving through the tight skylight seems too risky. With the intent to hide, Peter’s eyes fall on the moss-covered rock he’s leaned against so many times. Without further thought, he ducks behind it, peeking at the cave with only one eye. 

 

Seconds later, a long black leg stretches onto the dirt. And then another. And another. Until the entirety of the creature exits, unknowingly being watched by Peter. 

 

He’s  _huge_ , the spider’s bent legs more than the length of Peter’s wings and his abdomen a bulbous perch almost dragging against the ground. Peter has to cover his mouth from audibly whimpering as he takes in all the muscled, fuzzy legs. Soon shaking from fear, the butterfly forces himself to look at the less intimating features of the spider, such as the taut plain of his pale chest and dark unkept hair. The humanoid portion calms Peter remotely, because it is what they have in common, but doesn’t alleviate the other’s status as a predator.

 

Thankfully not noticing the intruder, the spider shuffles over to the opposite end of the grotto and begins touching up an apparently lackluster web. Peter pokes his head out just a bit more in curiosity, never having understood where exactly spider silk comes from. He watches in fascination as silk is pulled out of the underside of the spider’s abdomen and added meticulously. 

 

By the time the spider has finished, Peter has to readjust his position in fear he’s unintentionally exposing himself. But even though the spider is looking in his general direction, he remains undiscovered, and it isn’t long before the frightening creature begins to ascend through the skylight with an impressing amount of gracefulness. 

 

Without the spider obscuring his vision, Peter can properly admire the webbing he was redoing. The pattern is different than the others, gorgeous but impractical beyond it’s known texture and strength. As much as he wants to get a closer look, the butterfly plants to stay in his hiding spot until the spider goes back inside his cave. 

 

A long time passes, but eventually the spider descends back into the grotto. Peter presses as hard as he can into the rock, uncomfortably low to the ground as to avoid being spotted from above. He’s too afraid to move from this position even when he hears the spider gently hit the ground. God forbid Peter shake a tall blade of grass in the predator’s peripheral vision. . . Oh, the idea of discovery renews the butterfly’s anxiety. If he doesn’t get out of here, May will never know what happened to him. He should’ve flown home when he saw the first web! 

 

Without knowing exactly where the spider is, Peter feels tears form and his throat tighten. He presses his face into the dirt and tries his best to be still, be still,  be _still, fuck, what if he’s right above me? About to laugh? When I look he’s going to be there, inches away, smirking evilly—_

 

Unwittingly merciful, the spider presumably knocks the top of his head against the cave entrance, because he curses loudly after a  _thunk_ . The sound of his voice makes Peter flinch, but then reassures him of the distance between them. Peter slowly sits up and looks timidly at the spider, who is rubbing his scalp. After shooting a dirty look at the rock archway, the disgruntled predator disappears into his den like nothing happened. 

 

Peter waits to make sure the spider isn’t returning before leaving the safety of the rock. He’s already got his escape plan in mind by the time he’s out in the open, and doesn’t waste a single second before expertly fleeing the grotto. He, despite the persistent workings of his paranoid imagination, isn’t stalked or chased. 

 

His heart is still pounding when he’s back home, Aunt May serving a hot meal and asking about his day. “Did you find anything cool?” 

 

After a moment of deliberation, Peter smiles with a dismissive shake of his head. “No, not this time.”

 

 

 

 

When Peter was new to his wings, he flew up much higher than anyone who doesn’t want to be eaten by a bird should, and all but gave May a heart attack. Their neighbor at the time, God rest her soul, yelled at Peter with as much love as his aunt, and called him something that sticks in his mind to this day: an adrenaline junky. 

 

Knowing that he only gets himself into unsavory situations because he’s trying to get closer to something beautiful, Peter never gave the accusation a second thought. Now? He’s not so sure. . .

 

Recently, Peter’s favorite pastime has been visiting Mr. Spider. _Visiting_ is  probably the wrong term—spying on, stalking, and generally admiring is more accurate. Which makes him sound like a huge creep, but. It’s true. Visiting sounds nicer, though. More socially acceptable. Just like how ‘Mr. Spider’ sounds much nicer than the-ferocious-predator-that-would-brutally-kill-me-if-he-caught-me-watching-him. 

 

Calling Mr. Spider a ferocious predator almost makes Peter laugh because of how many times he’s seen the spider accidentally hurt himself or pouted over a failed webbing. Or celebrated a successful webbing—Mr. Spider always smiles handsomely as he admires his work, various feet twitching happily in a sort of little dance. Peter thinks it’s  really cute. And Ned might think he’s exaggerating, but it  _is_ a  handsome smile. Peter could do without the fangs, but they aren’t so bad from really far away. And Peter usually is far away when he watches Mr. Spider, so it’s all good. 

 

He’s limited himself to spying only when the spider is outside the grotto, though. That way Peter can fly away quickly if anything goes wrong, but really, for a predator, Mr. Spider isn’t very observant. Peter isn’t perfect, and sometimes slips or makes little noises, but it all goes unnoticed. Which is convenient, but also strikes a really weird cord with Peter. He’s glad his friend’s—(“ _Ned, stop laughing, he’s practically my friend_ _!_ ”)—method of hunting is completely dependent on the stupidity of his prey, because Peter doesn’t think he’d be good at anything beyond that. That’s probably a strange sentiment, but Peter can’t help it.

 

The butterfly doesn’t like pondering it for obvious reasons, but does notices that meals must be few and far between for Mr. Spider. Occasionally a web has been used, hostage already collected, and Peter watches the spider redo it. How often do spiders need to eat? Is he eating often enough? Will he move away if he doesn’t catch enough food? Peter is sadden at the thought of flying over only to discover Mr. Spider gone.

 

After a few weeks of this routine of visiting his unaware friend, Peter finally witnesses it. Someone stuck in Mr. Spider’s webbing. They’re older than Peter, a female dragonfly, and have been stuck long enough to resign themselves. There’s a tiny part of Peter who wants to stay hidden, let the spider discover his catch. It’s the woman’s own fault for getting stuck. She’s even in one of the bigger webs, how did she not see it? 

 

When the dragonfly starts quietly crying, Peter is intervening before he can stop himself. He flies over to her, out in the open, and puts a finger to his lips when she notices him hovering. “Shh,” he says with a frown, examining her predicament. 

 

“ _Please_ ,” she begs, seeing Peter’s eyes darken when he realizes just how tangled up she is. Peter’s heart hurts in response to her plea, and he gives her a reassuring smile.

 

“I’m going to find something to cut you out,” he promises, leaving her briefly to do just that. Peter manages to find a sharp twig that will do the job effectively, but cutting her out isn’t the hard part, it’s what happens after. Her thin, transparent wings will still be wrapped in the silk. But Peter is determined now. “Hold onto me.”

 

As the butterfly breaks off the threads one by one, more weight is added to his person. The dragonfly clutches him desperately with her fingers, clearly worried Peter won’t be able to support both of them in flight. 

 

Once she’s completely free of the web itself, Peter tries to maneuver them towards a nearby leaf as to set her down. He’s technically successful where the dragonfly is concerned, but too close to losing his own balance when he lets go of her, and slides right off the leaf into a different web. Peter feels it bounce softly underneath his weight with horror.

 

Somehow in possession of the twig, the dragonfly regards him guiltily while untangling her wings. Peter’s close enough to her that he sees the exact second she reaches a decision. Without as much tossing him the twig, she flies away.

 

“Wait, no!” he cries out, betrayal and astonishment on his face as he watches the dragonfly until she’s out of sight. “No. . .” Peter looks at Mr. Spider’s preferred entrance to the grotto, conscious of how much noise he’s making. There’s a possibility the spider didn’t hear him yell, maybe won’t even check his webbing for a few hours—Peter has time to escape! 

 

Tugging as hard as he can, Peter is unable to free himself. He’s well and truly caught in the thick silk, only able to move his fingers. Staring down at the skylight, the butterfly starts crying pathetically. Maybe Mr. Spider doesn’t eat butterflies? Maybe he’ll let Peter go? Yes, of course he will, because Peter is his friend. . .

 

Peter’s delusions melt away far quicker than he’d like as he jitters in the web. No, he’s not Peter’s friend. He doesn’t even  know  Peter. He’s going to wrap Peter up and suck his blood and  _Peter is going to die_ —

 

Unsurprisingly, having a panic attack doesn’t help Peter break free of the web at all, and when he comes down to a healthier freak-out level nothing has changed. He wonders how long it will take him to be like the dragonfly, to realize he’s as good as dead. 

 

Since he has no means of escape, Peter allows himself to weep openly instead of fighting it. He’s going to die. Mr. Spider is going to eat him, and he’s going to die. It’s terrible, but this is what Peter gets for putting himself in these situations. He should’ve stayed home today and played with Ned. Peter deserves this. 

 

Peter hasn’t been properly scare of Mr. Spider in awhile, but as he spots the predator’s brown hair appearing from the skylight, he wants to scream. But that probably would annoy more than invoke sympathy. He restlessly clenches and unclenches his fingers, the only part of his body he’s able to freely move. 

 

Mr. Spider regards him with wide eyes, as if he his prey doesn’t usually sob and struggle. His expression is unreadable, especially since Peter can barely see past the tears in his eyes. He’d foolishly imagined meeting his ‘friend’ before, and forming a real friendship, but with the spider in front of him Peter feels more delusional than ever. How was he ever okay with this? 

 

Without saying a word, Mr. Spider reaches out and delicately feels Peter’s wings. Peter sniffles loudly at the contact and swallows. He watches the predator’s pursed lips part in admiration as he traces the colorful patterns. It’s good that the spider isn’t taunting or intentionally scaring him, but Peter can’t help but feel like he isn’t even being considered a person as the other prods him. 

 

Evidently finding something very interesting on Peter’s left wing, Mr. Spider draws even closer. The butterfly continues to cry, but makes an effort to keep it minimal. If this wasn’t the most terrifying moment of Peter’s life, he’d be excited to see his pretended friend up close. He bites his bottom lip and whimpers when he notices the very tips of Mr. Spider’s fangs inside his mouth. 

 

Peter takes a deep breath, bringing the spider’s attention away from his wings. Looking into Mr. Spider’s brown eyes and seeing nothing evil or malicious gives the butterfly confidence to squeak, “C-Can you please lemme g-g-go, mister? I’m so s- sorry I messed up your w-web. . .”

 

The predator’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t free Peter. He looks sorry himself. Gently cupping the left side of Peter’s face, Mr. Spider sighs. “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he coos, caressing the butterfly’s face with his thumb. “Please don’t cry, sweetheart.”

 

There’s a  _lot_ to  cry about, but Peter finds himself calming down simply because the spider’s voice is so soothing. Do spiders hypnotize? Or is Peter so well acquainted with him that Mr. Spider’s voice has good associations in his mind? What doesn’t have good associations, however, is Mr. Spider leaning close and throughly smelling his neck. Peter sobs loudly and tries to rear backwards to no avail. “No, don’t bite me!”

 

“Shh,” Mr. Spider pulls back just a bit to frown at Peter, confusion painting his face. “It’s okay, honey, I just. . . Have I met you before?” He clearly doesn’t think so himself. Peter hiccups wetly before putting together that Mr. Spider isn’t trying to eat him, but recognizes his scent. “Have you been around here, sweetie?” A warm hand trails over the butterfly’s waist, the other still cupping his face. Peter just wants to feel okay, so he leans into the touch. 

 

Peter nods shyly, blinking rapidly in hopes of clearing his vision. Mr. Spider takes notice and wipes away the tears clinging to Peter’s long lashes. “Uh-huh, I’m s-sorry. . .”

 

“Why’s that, sweet pea?” 

 

“Y-Your w-web, I’m.” Peter sniffles and tries to hide his face in Mr. Spider’s hand. Unfortunately he’s unable to turn that far, much to his own embarrassment. This is pathetic! If Flash could see him now. . . “I didn’t mean to. I’m s-sorry.”

 

Mr. Spider rubs away more of Peter’s tears and makes these very odd but soothing clicking noises. “It’s alright,” he promises. The fact that Peter isn’t wrapped up yet, being dragged to Mr. Spider’s den, is a good thing, right? Surely he doesn’t treat all of his prey like this. . . Maybe it _is_ alright , maybe Peter will be alright. “Have you been around my webs, honey?” Peter’s face is already flushed from weeping, but it burns even more when he realizes he misinterpreted the predator’s question.

 

“Uh-huh,” Peter whispers. He goes to elaborate but can’t think of the best way to admit he’s been spying. 

 

Pressing his nose against Peter’s neck and inhaling deeply sends a fresh wave of fear throughout the bound insect. “I’ve smelled you before,” Mr. Spider says in a different tone than he’s been using, like he’s only talking to himself. Peter likes the placating voice much better. “Why’ve you been near my webs, sweetheart?” He stops smelling Peter when he realizes it’s making the butterfly uneasy. “Shhhh.”

 

There’s so much Peter could say in defense that he struggles with his words, spitting out a few unintelligible syllables for Mr. Spider to chuckle at. But not in a patronizing way, his eyes are warm and harboring what Peter wants so badly to believe is guilt. He _wants_ the  spider to feel guilty about trapping Peter. But the possibility is too good to be true—spider probably don’t have the capacity for such things, it would directly conflict with their instinct to feed. Mr. Spider is probably manipulating him, but Peter can’t be anything but optimistic, even facing death. 

 

“I’m s-sorry,” Peter mumbles. He takes a few stuttering breaths before answering. “I was watching y-you, mister. You m-make such pretty w-webs.” His voice breaks on the last word and Peter squeezes his eyes shut. 

 

This time Mr. Spider doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he strokes Peter’s face and flank respectively before pulling away completely. Peter cracks his eye open when he feels a strand of silk giving, realizing that the spider is freeing him from the web. “Oh,  yes , thank you, thank you.” Peter pants in relief, watching Mr. Spider break the far edges of the web. . . Bringing them back over to Peter and. . . Laying them over his chest. . . ? He looks wide-eyed at the predator, mouth dry. The spider doesn’t meet his eye, continuing to wrap up Peter with downturned eyes. 

 

Peter whines like a larva, shaking his head in denial.  _No_ . No, this can’t be happening. But Mr. Spider continues folding the webbing around Peter with no small amount of care, like he’s tucking him in with a blanket. “ _No_ , please. . .”

 

It isn’t long before the web is almost entirely wrapped around Peter, save for his head and neck. When Mr. Spider gathers the last of the silk to cover Peter’s face, the butterfly sobs uncontrollably. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to be wrapped up. Please, don’t, Mr. Spider, please don’t. 

 

“Shhh, sweetheart.” The spider sets down the webbing and cups both sides of Peter’s face. “Let’s just get you inside, okay? Please don’t cry. You don’t have to cry.” He sounds so  _loving_ , it’s more difficult to fight against the lull of his voice than the restraints. 

 

Smoothing over Peter’s puffy eyes with his rough palm, Mr. Spider makes more of those clicking noises. Peter keeps his eyes shut, lips quivering. He feels them being covered, the thread stopping halfway down the bridge of his nose. Hoisted into Mr. Spider’s arms, Peter rationalizes that he might as well exploit any comfort the predator is willing to provide, because it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. It’s over. 

 

“Please h-h-hold me,” Peter cries. He tries to open his eyes, finding he cannot, which is much scarier than not being able to move his arms or legs. “Don’t l-let me f-fall, please.” 

 

Peter’s reasonable, arguably misplaced request does not go unfulfilled. Mr. Spider secures the butterfly in his arms tightly, and then they begin to move. Peter wiggles unhappily in his cocoon, and the spider rubs the back of his strained neck to relax him. “It’s okay, sweetheart, let’s go inside, hm?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Peter hiccups. 

 

Feeling the soft thump resonate through the creature holding him, Peter deduces they’re about to enter the cave. The place where he will die. 

 

Unfortunately Mr. Spider does not hit his head this time, as Peter had fleetingly hoped he would. They walk for a long time, and the butterfly wonders exactly how deep into the cave is he being taken? Any hope he had at somehow getting out himself is killed, causing Peter to slump peacefully in the spider’s arms. There’s no point in struggling.

 

“Aw, sweetpea,” Mr. Spider breathes. They stop suddenly, and Peter is deposited upside down. The butterfly curiously squirms to see if he can swing side-to-side, determining yes. That means he’s most likely suspended from the ceiling, dangling like meat on a hook. Peter whimpers forlornly. “Shh, please. It’s okay.” A reluctant hand presses against Peter’s cheek. “We’re just going to sleep for a bit. Can you do that for me? Aren’t you tired, darling?”

 

Peter is so, _so tired_ . Sleep sounds wonderful. He’s going to fall asleep and then he’ll wake up in Heaven, he’s sure. Everything will be okay.

 

“Everything will be okay,” Mr. Spider whispers. 

 

Everything will be okay. 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up in Tony’s cave, lightheaded and hanging from the ceiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy <3

Peter wakes up completely disoriented, previous events returning to his mind so rapidly it makes his head hurt. Or makes his head hurt more, because it’s already throbbing. His entire body from the shoulders up hurt, actually. Is Peter still alive? You don’t feel pain in the afterlife, right?

 

Gaining consciousness, Peter realizes with bone-chilling fear that he’s still hanging upside down, decidingly  _alive_ . And not only that, but there’s a sharp pain in his neck, warm and stabbing. . . Like, literally stabbing. It moves away when he starts whining in confusion and pain. 

 

“Oh no, honey, are you awake?” Mr. Spider sounds like he’s talking underwater, but that’s probably because Peter’s ears aren’t working right. His head is so heavy. How did he ever fly right side up with such a heavy head? It doesn’t make any sense. . . “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

 

A hot, wet something laves over Peter’s neck, and it takes longer than it should for him to put together that the spider is licking him. Is he bleeding? It’s difficult to tell past the fuzziness of his brain. 

 

“Please go back to sleep, sweetheart.” Peter thinks that sounds incredible, because there’s no fuzziness or pain in dreamland, but something tells him going back to sleep wouldn’t be the best idea. “I’m sorry, go back to sleep. . .” Mr. Spider sounds genuinely upset, dropping the gumdrop voice he’s been speaking with. “ _Please_ , I’m so hungry. . .”

 

Peter tries to open his eyes before remembering that he can’t. He’s wrapped up in spider silk. Mr. Spider wrapped him up to eat him. Is that what’s happening now? “No,” Peter coughs, throat dry. “Wait! L-Let m’down. . .” He has no idea how long he’s been upside down, but it’s severely impacting his ability to think clearly. “Down.”

 

An undeterminable period of time passes before, to Peter’s surprise and relief, his wish is granted. It actually feels unnatural to be upright after hanging for. . . However long he did. Butterflies can hang upside down for much longer than other insects before experiencing lightheadedness, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think hours have passed since Mr. Spider first hung him up. “Th-Thank you,” Peter makes sure to say, feeling returning to his lower limbs. 

 

Sure enough, the butterfly feels wetness pooling on his shoulder, covering the left side of his neck. Mr. Spider bit him, was _feeding_ from  him. . . Suddenly, the spider’s earlier words have meaning, and Peter whimpers. He hates not being able to see. Is the predator staring at his neck? Planning to strike at any moment? 

 

“C-Can you let me see you?” Peter didn’t mean for those exact words to come out of his mouth, he’s not sure why they do. “Let me see, please.”

 

“You. . .” Mr. Spider’s voice is rough, heady. It makes the butterfly shiver. “You don’t want to see me. . .”

 

Peter nods insistently. “Yes, I do.” He wonders why the spider sounds so haunted. Does he feel guilty, or is this all a sick game to him? “Please let me see.”

 

The silk hiding his eyes is removed with unsteady fingers, Peter’s hyperaware of the change because up until this point the predator has treating him like a piece of glass. 

 

Opening his eyes, the butterfly frowns. Peter still can’t see anything, and the reason slowly dawns on him. There’s absolutely no light in this cave system, they’re submerged in pitch black darkness. Peter gasps, having been raised to fear the dark. He looks around, freezing when he notices two floating red orbs in the inky air only a few feet away. 

 

“Oh,” Peter says, unsure if the spider knows he can’t see in the dark. Maybe it’s for the better. . . He surely has Peter’s blood on his lips. So why does the butterfly still desire to reach out and burrow in Mr. Spider’s embrace? Is he really that disgraceful. . . ?

 

“I’m so sorry,” the spider croaks, sounding on the verge of tears. Peter thinks he’s under the impression the butterfly _can_ see  him. The red orbs disappear, implying Mr. Spider has turned around out of shame. 

 

Peter isn’t so deluded to forget that _he's_ the  victim here, but. . . The loathing and misery in the other creature’s voice makes Peter feel bad. He hears Mr. Spider lick his lips in the quiet of the cave. “It’s okay.” The orbs reappear. “Can you please free my arms?” He’s humored, mostly because he could be web-free and still have no chance escaping by himself.

 

Stretching his arms, Peter’s fingertips brush against one of Mr. Spider’s legs. He flinches before unapologetically feeling them up. “Could you. . .” Peter shivers at the sensation of blood trickling down his shoulder. “Could you eat without. . . Killing me?”

 

The orbs blink slowly at him. “Without. . .”

 

“You just can’t take all of it,” Peter explains, trying to beckon Mr. Spider closer. “I don’t want you to be hungry.”

 

The spider shivers himself, producing a guilty sound. “Oh, sweetheart. . .” He situates on his web, pulling Peter’s encased body into his arms. “You smell so delicious. . . I can’t. . .”

 

“P-Please don’t eat all of me,” Peter sniffles, scared enough for tears to pool in his eyes. “I-I don’t want. . . I _want_ to  wake up again; I want to see you.”

 

“Can’t you see me?” Mr. Spider cups the right side of Peter’s face as he’s wont to do. 

 

Shaking his head, Peter’s eyes move desperately around the red eyes to find any discernible facial feature. “No, it’s too dark, mister. I can’t see anything.” Not very confident he will wake up again, Peter asks a burning question to take his mind off his impending death. “Um, do you have a name?”

 

Mr. Spider’s eyes squint in bemusement. “Of course, darling. You can call me Tony.” He speaks reluctantly, like he’s almost not sure if that really is his name.

 

Tony is a cute name. Very cute for such a scary spider. Peter’s put at ease by the admission, and shares his own. Tony seems equally charmed, or as charmed as someone can be in this type of situation. The soft moment between them doesn’t last very long, though. Despite being able to only see his eyes, Peter can’t tell where Tony is looking, but it’s obvious what’s on his mind when he buries his face in the butterfly’s wounded neck. “Ah!” Peter squeals.

 

A wet tongue laps the skin stained red, a hungry, sad groan escaping Tony’s mouth. He is hesitant to feed. Peter reaches around the spider’s thorax, feeling the muscles to soothe himself. “It’s okay, Tony, you can have it.” 

 

Blunt nibbles make a trail to the neat bite on Peter’s neck. Tony moans, squeezing the butterfly tightly before beginning to suck. Peter just continues to hug the spider, trying not to focus on the pain. It doesn’t hurt terribly, but it doesn’t feel very good either. The sensation of Tony’s mouth and tongue is. . . More than good, really. Nice and damp. Nothing like Peter has ever felt anywhere on his body. . . But the fangs aren’t so pleasant. They’re scratching against his throat as Tony feeds, irritating the skin and making superficial puncture marks. 

 

After letting Tony slurp for some time, Peter starts to feel a hair woozy. But Tony continues to drink as if he’s been denied food for days, and Peter’s sure he can give just a little more up. . . He’ll make more, anyway. Tony’s clearly starving, he arguably needs Peter’s blood more than Peter himself.

 

Suddenly Peter’s head starts to feel really, _really_ hot , and he knows he’s tip-toeing the line. If he passes out, Tony will keep going. “Tony,” Peter murmurs, wincing at how badly his head hurts. Between the crying and the blood lost, he’s in a lot of discomfort. “Tony, please stop?”

 

Tony pulls off of the bite he’s made, rumbling with satisfaction. “Mm,” he practically purrs, nosing Peter’s ear. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

 

Whining, the butterfly allows his arms to fall to his sides in exhaustion. He can’t be bothered to hold them up anymore. “No, please. . . Can you cover my neck?” Understanding Peter’s concern, Tony smartly uses his webbing to cover the wound. “Thank you, Tony.”

 

Save for the silk preventing him from bleeding out, Peter distantly feels the webbing he was burritoed in removed. He flexes his sore wings, nuzzling his head under Tony’s chin. “Now I’m okay. . .” Peter’s asleep a heartbeat later, and the spider cradles him before losing drifting off himself. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s no way to tell what time it is without checking outside, but Peter assumes it’s at least daybreak when he wakes up in Tony’s embrace. It doesn’t matter; May would’ve expected her nephew back before nightfall. Peter hopes she isn’t worried too much. . .

 

Peter’s content to continue snuggling as he nurses the dull ache permeating his body, though soon his tummy starts growling. He hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and remembering this makes him even hungrier. He squirms in Tony’s arms, waiting for the spider to wake up. Reluctancy creeps into the butterfly’s heart as Tony groans and stretches. It isn’t as if he can do anything about it himself, but was waking up the predator such a good idea? He did originally try to eat Peter, _all_ of  Peter. But is that really Tony’s fault? Peter is prey and fell into his trap fair and square. And Tony deserved a fresh meal after dealing with his hysteria so gentlemanly.  _Mm, gentleman_ , Peter thinks, reaching up to feel his unique beard.  _So scruffy!_

 

Tony goes stiff, startling Peter. “Tony?” the butterfly whispers, fingers pausing. 

 

“You’re with me,” the spider coos, muscles unclenching. His warm hands roam Peter’s body with appreciation. “I thought. . .” Tony briefly pokes the injured side of Peter’s neck, making him mewl. “Oh, sorry, sweetheart.”

 

Peter blindly grasps Tony’s prodding fingers, squeezing them when he finds purchase. “I’m still with you. Do you feel better?” He timidly presses his small palm against the spider’s belly. The abs ripple in response, making the butterfly blush. 

 

Tony rubs his cold nose affectionately against Peter’s forehead. “Yes, thank you. I’m sorry, I was so hungry.” The word ‘hungry’ triggers another stomach growl, making Tony laugh. “Are you hungry now, darling?”

 

“Y-Yes.” Peter feels awkward asking to be taken outside. Not in his wildest dreams had he pictured this scenario, and it ironically leaves him more unsure and timid than ever. Tony might be listening to him diligently now, but who’s to say that won’t change? Peter isn’t in charge! He’s just. . . Prey. Just a stupid, naive butterfly. . . So he’s alive for now, Peter isn’t complaining on that front, but the ambiguity of where they go from here is nerve-wracking.

 

Exiting the cave system confirms Peter’s suspicions: it’s midday. The air is pleasantly warm, if not a bit dry, and finally color has returned to the world. Peter lets his eyes adjust before blearily searching for the patch of flowers he likes to eat pollen from. More intuitive than the butterfly had previously given him credit for, Tony marches over to the pretty petals, still holding his prize. Peter waits to be set down, frowning when the spider makes no move to do so. He looks back at Tony, seeing him for the first time since the predator expertly blindfolded him. 

 

Tony’s eyes dart away under Peter’s scrutiny, twitching when the smaller creature gasps. The skin around Tony’s mouth holds a red hue, so faint it could almost pass as a rash if Peter didn’t know exactly what it was. Crusty chunks of blood are stuck to some parts of Tony’s beard, making Peter’s empty stomach churn when he thinks of how he was caressing it earlier. . . How much blood does Peter have on him that he doesn’t know about? They were cuddling all night, it has to be all over him! The butterfly worryingly inspects the easily assessable parts of his body, finding dried blood splattered randomly. “Ew!” he squeals.

 

The spider shifts. Peter looks back at him, realizing his disgust might be misconstrued. Tony just looks. . . Sad. Just plain sad, like he’s disappointed and ashamed. It’s so upsetting, Peter can’t stand it! “Hey, don’t be sad. I’m sorry, it’s just—I don’t like blood very much. But we can clean it off after this, right?” 

 

“Yeah.” The overwhelming misery leaves Tony’s brown eyes, but he doesn’t smile. “Do you eat. . . Flowers?” 

 

Tony sounds so adorably confused that Peter can’t help but giggle. “Sometimes, but mostly I just steal the pollen.” His wings flutter, or attempt anyway, which happens when Peter feels happy or silly. Tony nervously tightens his hold on the butterfly. 

 

“Please don’t go.”

 

The abrupt flood of desperation into Tony’s expression is both flattering and alarming. Peter might not be wrapped up smugly in a sticky cocoon right now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not a prisoner.  _Captive_ . Negative thoughts start rushing through Peter’s mind.  _How long will I be here? Am I allowed to leave? Will I ever see my home again? Is Tony planning to kill me?_ the butterfly thinks. The grip around him is suddenly smothering. 

 

Squirming unconsciously, Peter looks away from the spider and bites his bottom lip. Would it be smarter to ignore these pressing questions and give Tony the impression he’s not a flight risk? Or is he overreacting (understandably) and Tony means no (further) harm? 

 

Peter’s tense silence seems to blow his cover, because the predator relaxes his muscles with a gasp of realization. “Sorry, I—“ His apology draws Peter’s attention. “I don’t see a lot of people. Much less. . . People like you.” He talks slowly, sounding like he’s having trouble picking the right words. Despite his mental deliberation it still doesn’t sound very eloquent.

 

“P-People like me?” the butterfly murmurs inquisitively.

 

“Uh.” A soft flush crawls up Tony’s neck. He stretches out his arms as to increase the space between them. “Dammit. I don’t have many conversations,” he sighs, completely ignoring Peter’s question.

 

Feeling as though they are on equal footing at the moment, Peter quips, “Really? You speak so entrancingly I never would have guessed.”

 

Tony clears his throat. “That’s all. . . Placation.” The long pause before he continues allows Peter to realize Tony’s referring to the sugar sweet talk used before, all the pet names and cooing. “For. . . Food.”

 

Peter gets goosebumps, his neck itching. “It was very good,” he blurts, to both their surprise. “Very comforting.”

 

Tony looks at Peter like he’s a weirdo shaking his head with a short laugh. “Can’t say anybody’s said _that_ to  me before.”

 

The two creep into the flowerbed eventually, and Peter feasts happily on petals and pollen alike. Tony seems enraptured by the butterfly’s diet, which isn’t a huge shock. His curiosity diminishes however when Peter offers a stamen; he rejects the idea of a vegan lifestyle as soon as the flavor hits his tongue. Peter finds his disgusted face hilarious, giggling up a storm. Tony really, _really_ likes  the sound of it. 

 

It isn’t very long before the sky darkens, alerting both parties that the day is promptly coming to end it. It quickly becomes the elephant in the room. Tony, believe it or not, is the one to finally address it. 

 

“You should. . . Go, before it gets too dark,” the spider comments with forced casualness.

 

The suggestion should be very good to hear. Peter hasn’t been in Tony’s arms for a few hours, but there was always the underlying danger of the spider snatching him back up if he moved too far away. So in _that_ way  it is good to hear. . . But the tone of Tony’s voice isn’t similarly pleasant. Talking with him today has given Peter the opportunity to learn many things about the predator, things he would have never discovered by simply watching Tony. He has a difficult time articulating himself, but Peter probably wouldn’t be any better if he was the one living in caves, isolated from any real society, his whole life. But that doesn’t mean he’s impossible to talk to. Quite the opposite actually. Peter contributes to the conversation generously, waiting for Tony’s responses with patience. It’s  wonderful , and completely unfair to end such a great day on a sour note like this. . . 

 

Peter flutters over to where Tony’s sprawled on the grass. “Tony.” He looks at the spider pointedly. “I wanna come back. I’m _gonna_ be  back.” 

 

“You. . .” Tony looks at the butterfly’s patched neck bitterly. “You’re that stupid?”

 

The words certainly take Peter aback, but he’s dealt with people who handle fear with hostility. Just a day with Tony has revealed a lot of his deep-seated defense mechanisms. So Peter persists, snidely remarking, “I’m just stupid enough.” Although, Peter is _not_ stupid  enough to go in for a hug. He figures there’s a possibility close contact at this moment might trigger Tony’s instinct to capture Peter. Stepping back as subtly as he can, he adds, “You’re not. . . Bad news.”

 

Unconvinced, Tony gripes, “Is that why you’re running away?”

 

“Hey, I’m not—“ Peter looks down at his retreating feet. He didn’t notice he was still backing away. Planting himself firmly on the ground, the butterfly postures up, approaching Tony with meaningful strides. He’s within snatching distance again. “I’m not running away.” Proximity might be dangerous, but it’s the only way to send a message. Tony’s probably heard countless begging and promises over the years, but not this. Not prey walking right up to him and standing their ground. Peter goes for broke, confidently pressing his dainty hands against Tony’s chiseled abdomen. “Because I’ll be back.”

 

Peter’s gorgeous brown eyes fill Tony with compassion and fondness. He isn’t a people person by any means; spiders aren’t exactly know for their social skills. He’s awkward, relying almost exclusively on instincts to drive him. And right now his instincts are telling him to grab Peter’s hands and pull him into a searing kiss, so that’s exactly what Tony does.

 

The cute little butterfly gasps into his mouth, eyes remaining wide open even when Tony’s flutter shut. Peter tastes very sweet, like some bizarre flavor alien to the spider. He can only imagine his mouth tastes of stale iron, but receives no complaints. 

 

Tony eventually pulls away, but not without nipping his prey’s swollen bottom lip first. “Mm. . . Do you taste that sweet. . .  _Everywhere_ ?”

 

“Uh.” Peter shivers in arousal, loins warming from the blatant  _want_   dripping from Tony’s words. His pretty face is blotched rouge. Timidly, the butterfly whispers, “Maybe soon I’ll let you find out?”

 

With no other choice than to push his prey away—Tony can’t keep fighting the urge to swaddle Peter and drag him back into the cave—the spider takes a few long strides backwards. “Don’t say anything you’re going to regret. Now go on, it’s getting dark.”

 

Peter nods with a clenched jaw, not trusting himself to say much more. He flashes Tony a reassuring smile before taking off, carefully avoiding the webs. He can’t see the spider’s longing gaze, but feels it burn his skin with more intensively than the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will have all the freaky eggpreg stuff ;)


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absence makes the heart grow fonder. And in this particular case, leads to impregnation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: slight body horror, dubious consent, and a healthy dose of cuteness to balance everything out

After nearly a week passes without the return of Peter, Tony’s convinced he’s never going to see him again. 

 

It was only moderately difficult to remain optimistic the first two days. Peter would come back, like he _said_ he  would. What he didn’t say is when, which in hindsight should have been disclosed. So Tony holds out hope as long as he can, but inevitably his mind jumps to the worst conclusions. The thought of Peter deliberately not flying over is almost worse than the prospect he’s in danger. Tony isn’t the only predator around, what if the butterfly was intercepted? What if he’s lying dead somewhere, drained of life and steadily rotting? 

 

It seems ridiculous to be hung up on someone the spider barely knows, but their encounter was the most exciting thing to ever happen to Tony. He’s lived very boringly, moving around once and awhile but still doing the same things wherever he goes.  _Web, sleep, eat_ was  the dull mantra he lived by. The quality of his day-to-day life was dictated by how well he managed to weave, or if he caught himself something fresh and squirmy. Now he lazes around, uninspired, obsessively watching the skylight. 

 

The fifth Peter-less morning is just as dreary as the others, but Tony is surprised and delighted to find two flys caught in his webbing outside the grotto. He doesn’t bother making them feel better, letting the two scream and cry and plead. Only when Tony was younger did he truly bask in his prey’s horror, but in light of his recent indifference to anything not named Peter, he does. Watching the flies helplessly writhe in their respective cocoons fills Tony with warm, malicious glee. He plays with his prey once they’re secure in his den, cruelly prodding them and clicking his tongue. They swing gently from where they’re suspended, struggling to breathe under the thick layers of web he’s caked on their faces. He doesn’t want to see their eyes. 

 

“Please, please.” One of their voices has been reduced to unpleasant, snotty gasps while the other repeats clique phrases. Tony’s less partial towards the talking one, and feeds with gusto. They stop twitching shortly after.

 

Like a responsible adult, Tony decides to leave his live prey for now. He’s still hungry, but when isn’t he? It would be wiser to start setting aside meals until he can calculate how often someone falls into his webbing. Then he’ll be able to properly space out meals, account for dry spells and dampen the omnipresent ache in his stomach. 

 

Tony goes to clean off outside, and forces blood to the forefront of his mind. He can feel it comfortingly sloshing around inside him, abundant and so warm. It did lift his spirits after so long without food, but like everything else it reminds the spider of Peter. Peter tasted _so_ much  better, thicker and more filling. So sweet and euphoric. . . 

 

Using every ounce of his willpower, Tony leaves the grotto to reweave the web his prey destroyed. This process used to be the highlight of his days. He really enjoys putting his mind to work, examining the surrounding environment and determining what method of threading would provide optimize the tensility strength of his silk. It feels good to create. But currently it’s a chore. Tony’s planning to just throw something together halfheartedly so he can get back to moping when the distant sound of fluttering reaches his ears. He turns.

 

A few yards away hovers Peter, his immaculate wings beating in a blur of orange, black, and white. He’s smiling softly, coming closer. “Tony!” 

 

Tony’s overjoyed, of course, but caught off guard. He really didn’t expect Peter to visit him again, and the sight of the butterfly takes his breath away. 

 

Peter comes within touching distance but continues to fly. Tony wonders for a second why he isn’t landing—he’s probably been in the air for awhile, and deserves rest—but then realizes Peter can’t freely walk on webbing. He unthinkingly offers his arms. “Peter.”

 

Not immediately taking the spider up on his nonverbal offer, Peter directs his attention to the eyesore Tony’s on. “Oh, did I interrupt you?”

 

“No, no,” Tony rushes to say, laughing at the end. “This can wait, trust me. I’d much rather focus on you.”

 

Tony’s blunt admission makes Peter’s tummy do somersaults. He lets the spider hold him, sighing. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here,” he addresses with no small amount of remorse swimming in his eyes. “May was so worried; she didn’t want me going out again so soon.”

 

Ah, Aunt May. Tony remembers the butterfly mentioning her offhandedly a few times. The excuse is solid, and makes him feel terrible for doubting Peter. He hugs the butterfly tightly, noticing for the first time that he’s wearing soft fabric around his neck. “What’s with the scarf?” he inquires, heading for the grotto.

 

“Oh yeah.” Peter clings to him submissively, letting the spider do all the heavy lifting. “I didn’t want anyone to see. . . See your bite. Especially May. She can’t know; she’d tie me to my bed if she knew how much—anyway. . .”

 

“How much danger you’re putting yourself in, you mean?” Tony regards his friend with amusement. He playfully presses his nose into Peter’s red cheek, causing the butterfly to squeal. “Dangling yourself in front of me like this?”

 

Peter angles his face so he can affectionately nuzzle Tony’s face. “Dangling?” he asks coyly. 

 

They hit the ground gently. “Wouldn’t you say?” Tony pulls the scarf away carefully, wanting to see the prey’s delicious neck. Peter’s pale throat is almost healed, the skin around his bite green and yellow. Tony skids his thumb over the scabbed puncture marks, pupils widening.“Mm. . .”

 

Noticing the drool escaping the corner of Tony’s mouth, Peter frowns. He tries to tilt his neck away, only for the spider to bury his face there and snuffle. 

 

The scent this kid produces is beyond the regular allure of prey. It’s  intoxicating . Tony’s stomach clenches in need, and they’re pressed together so tightly Peter feels it. He’s not particularly happy with their intimacy anymore. “Um, Tony?” he whines. “I-I don’t like this.”

 

Shaky fingers dig painfully into the butterfly’s fleshy hips. He doesn’t bite, though. 

 

“Tony,” Peter whimpers.

 

Depositing Peter quickly onto the grass, Tony spins around and hugs himself. Watching uncertainly, Peter wipes his wet eyes. “Uh. . . Has it been since last time? Since me?” he asks, jumping to the conclusion Tony hasn’t eaten in awhile.

 

The problem is, he  has . Tony fed not an hour ago, yet it feels like it’s been days. Is he really this weak? A mindless slave to his instincts? “No,” he answers. “I’m so sorry. . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That wasn’t cool.”

 

Peter gathers the scarf and rewraps his neck. “Well, it isn’t cool for me to be ‘dangling’ either. . . Very insensitive towards you.” 

 

“Don’t blame—“ Tony turns back around, anguished. “That was all me. Being a dick. You’re just so. . .” From where Tony’s standing, Peter’s positioned in such a way that makes the sparse sunlight filter through his wings. They practically  _glow_ , captivating and ethereal. The perfect frame for the rest of Peter’s body. “Beautiful.”

 

Peter blushes. “You really are a dick. Making me think you’re gonna eat me. . . Then making me what to kiss you.” He crosses his thin arms, looking away.

 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Tony approaches him hesitantly. This isn’t what they both waited for, looked forward to. Not for Peter to be jumpy with fear and Tony on a hair-trigger. Tony’s not going to allow himself to ruin this. Not this. 

 

“I’ll try to be less irresistible.” Peter squints impishly. 

 

“You see that? That right there? That’s the problem.” Tony smiles, good-natured. Nothing unsafe or predatory about a little back and forth. Peter closes the distance between them unexpectantly.

 

As far as kisses go, it isn’t anything to write home about, but it’s  _Peter_ . Tony cups the back of his head tenderly, deepening the kiss just as the butterfly makes a move to rear back. He slips his tongue into Peter’s mouth greedily.

 

“Eh!” Tony’s hand falls, wide eyes watching the smaller insect hack in disgust. “Oh, Tony.” Peter pulls a face. “You really need to wash out your mouth.”

 

Throughly humiliated, Tony scampers off to follow that suggestion. He returns not long after to find Peter meticulously plucking petals in the flower bed, inspecting each closely before taking a bite. Tony’s eyes crinkle in amusement at the sight. 

 

Joining Peter, the spider gestures at the flowers lazily. “I wish my diet was so easily sorted.” It’s meant as a joking comment, but a pensive look falls onto Peter’s face.

 

“You really can only eat. . . Blood?”

 

Tony looks away awkwardly, swallowing around nothing as his mouth becomes reflexively dry. “Yeah. Far as I know, anyway.”

 

Being a creature capable of digesting most things, exotic or native, Peter is saddened at the thought. Tony might love blood, thrive on it, but he’ll never know any other flavor. Maybe blood doesn’t even taste that good to him, but because he has nothing to compare it to, it’s euphoric. Peter shares his thoughts.

 

“That’s very sweet,” Tony coos, reaching out to run his fingers through Peter’s soft hair. “But I’m not really hung up about it. For what it’s worth, I wish I could. . . Experience this with you.” He taps his pointer against a petal halfway to Peter’s mouth.

 

The innocent notion must strike the butterfly in dirty way, because he drops his snack carelessly and puts on a coy smile. “Maybe we’re very different, especially when it comes to food, but. . . I think there’s probably other ways we’re compatible. Don’t you think?” Peter’s wings flutter in a gentle, seductive manner, his small hand resting on one of Tony’s knees.

 

Peter’s shift in demeanor isn’t disregarded as meaningless flirting. Their chemistry is what allowed this friendship to flourish, after all. Tony’s more than ready to take it further, especially since he’s found such a gorgeous partner. To Tony, the mating habits of butterflies are a mystery, but they can’t be too different or bizarre, what with how strongly Peter’s coming onto him.

 

“I don’t know, baby.” Tony thoughtfully brushes his knuckles against Peter’s beautiful wings. “You look pretty breakable.”

 

The butterfly pouts. “I might be smaller than you, but I’m not weak.”

 

If Tony wasn’t so fond of Peter, maybe he’d leave the details for after, but right now his conscious won’t allow tricking the prey into some grade-a body horror. He tries to find a non-threatening way to break the news. “I’m sorry, Petey. I just mean. . . My kind, we don’t mate for pleasure.”

 

Stricken, Peter steps further back. “Oh.  Oh , I’m so sorry! Have I been making you uncomfortable?” So fucking adorable.

 

Tony laughs. “No, no. You could never.” He encourages Peter to approach him again, lacing their hands together. “Spiders mate to breed.” Before the butterfly can properly react to this information, Tony continues. “That isn’t to say I wouldn’t  love breeding you, sweetheart.”

 

There’s  a long stretch of silence that grows increasingly more tense, the charming smile slipping off Tony’s face. He grips Peter’s hands tightly, not wanting the butterfly to fly away out of fear. Was he too blunt? “Peter?”

 

“. . . You think you could. . . Give me larvae?”

 

Peter’s expression is lost. Tony frowns sympathetically. “I would. But only if you wanted them.”

 

A million thoughts race through Peter’s head. Things that no female insect would ever consider, because in this world pregnancy is commonplace and encouraged. Normal females don’t have to think about the ratifications, only where they’ll lay and who they’ll be fertilized by. Peter never realized something like this was on the table for him, being a male. But the more he looks into Tony’s handsome brown eyes, the better the idea is sounding. Peter hasn’t ever been interesting in mating with female butterflies, and his biological clock is ticking. Better yet, Tony seems like he could be a long term partner, rather than a one-time screw. 

 

The butterfly cups Tony’s cheek. They’d make such pretty larvae together. “How long would I carry?”

 

Peter’s question catches the spider off guard, and he sputters to answer. “A few months, maybe?”

 

Flying around with a big belly would certainly get him some strange looks. But if anyone knew exactly what he was carrying, it’s more than likely they’d try to hurt the eggs, hurt Peter. He’d be better off staying with Tony. But what about May?

 

“I could make my den more habitable for you,” Tony offers, a note of desperation in his voice. Maybe he’s looking for a long term partner, too. “You could bring your furniture and I would watch over you.” He’s excited by the idea.

 

The blind loyalty in Tony’s voice makes him an even more attractive mate. Peter clambers into his arms. “I would like that,” he admits quietly, pushing away thoughts of May. They’ll figure things out. Any perceivable consequences seem manageable, if not tedious.

 

Tony strokes the flat plain of Peter’s tummy. “I would like it very much,” he agrees, voice dropping a few octaves. “You’re such a pretty little thing. . .”

 

Peter wraps his arms around the spider’s neck, kissing him hungrily. Tony doesn’t taste as strongly of iron and bad breath as before, but it’s still not the flowery freshness Peter’s working with. It isn’t unbearable, though. Tony’s finesse more than makes up for any foul taste. Because really, for someone who has probably only kissed a few others in his life, he’s got a lot of skill.

 

It’s pretty obvious Peter hasn’t kissed before, but that’s just another selling point for Tony. He’s used to the heady flavor of predators, their teeth nicking him as they fight each other for dominance. Peter is an entirely different experience. He’s sweet and slobbery, with a soft little tongue carefully darting out in bursts of confidence, his warm nose pressed snugly against Tony’s cheek. If this is him as an inexperienced kisser, the butterfly will be _lethal_ once  he gets the hang of it.

 

Slipping one of his hands down to Peter’s lower back, Tony smoothly brushes one of his fangs against Peter’s bottom lip. He wouldn’t dare break skin, but the prey whimpers nevertheless. Hopefully he just finds the action erotic, like Tony was going for. “You wanna carry my eggs, baby?” he murmurs wetly, their lips caressing chastely during every word. “Want me to pump you full of my spawn?”

 

The curious tingle in Peter’s loins suddenly becomes a roaring fire. The concept of carrying spider eggs, specifically Tony’s, is foolishly arousing. He whines loudly, prompting the spider’s hand to explore the back of Peter’s skirt. “Oh, yes, Tony! Please, I want to hatch with you.” He cups Tony’s head. “I want your eggs.”

 

Assured of Peter’s consent, Tony starts to inch backwards. “In my den, sweetheart.” He plants another smooch before noticing the butterfly’s reluctance. “Not too deep, I promise.” That seems to be exactly what Peter was worrying about, the darkness, because he goes back to enthusiastically making out after Tony’s promise.

 

When they’re a few yards into the cave, the light reasonably dim, Peter’s scarf and skirt are yanked away with little fanfare. Tony groans from seeing his lover fully exposed. “Oh, Peter. . . “

 

Peter blushes under the attention, never haven been regarded in a lustful way such as this. He can’t help but turn his head away bashfully as Tony admires his naked body. 

 

The butterfly’s slim cock is already at full mast, straining angrily towards the stalactites. It’s similar to the flowers Peter was eating earlier, the pink head not unlike the velvety flesh of petals; the bead of precum like morning honeydew after a spring shower. But simply, it’s just a very pretty cock. Tony waxes as much, deepening the small insect’s blush.

 

Tony heaves Peter up gently, hooking tan legs over his shoulders. He isn’t arrogant enough to take the hard organ into his mouth, what with his fangs. Instead, Tony alternates between sucking and licking the foreskin and head generously. The flavor is  phenomenal . It’s salty and thick, almost as good as blood. Tony eagerly slurps any leakage he can.

 

“Oh, oh,” Peter’s blabbering like he’s never had his cock played with before. “Yes, yes, that’s so gooood!” Tony’s also never had such a vocal partner before. From his position, he can feel very tremor and moan resonate throughout Peter’s body. 

 

Unsurprisingly, it isn’t long before Peter’s reached his peak. The butterfly gives his partner a multitude of warnings, but if anything Tony just suckles harder. Squealing with pleasure, Peter comes straight into the spider’s ravenous mouth. The sight of his cum splattered onto Tony’s fangs sends a painful twitch of desire through Peter’s throbbing cock.

 

Tony doesn’t move—aside from swallowing—while Peter comes down from his orgasm. They stare at each other for a bit, both panting, but with different tempos. The spell is broken when Tony runs a finger down the crease of Peter’s tush, eyebrow arched. The motion earns him a giggle and a pat on the head, which Tony takes as his cue to continue. He pauses when maneuvering the butterfly lower. Peter thoughtlessly wraps his legs around Tony’s fuzzy thorax as the spider looks away.

 

“My own, um.” Tony struggles explaining his train of thought, the interruption causing Peter to follow his gaze. “I’m not as easily assessable. . .” Their size difference makes it difficult to coordinate mental lovemaking techniques, but the spider has an idea. However, he’s not about to do anything unprecedented without giving Peter the heads up, vaguely or not. “Would you be opposed to me positioning you?”

 

“Positioning?” Peter chirps, frowning at the thick coats of webbing around them.

 

Tony clears his throat. He feels guilty asking Peter to be caught in his webbing, after his first experience. “Yes. . . On my webs.” He nudges his head towards a specific area. “. . .But I understand if yo—“

 

“It’s okay.” Peter steels his expression, taking a deep breath. The thought is scary, but Tony doesn’t mean him any harm. Maybe this will give him good connotations, even. “I don’t mind.”

 

Examining the butterfly’s expression, Tony comes to the conclusion that Peter is telling the truth. He gives his lover a few lengthy pecks for understanding, then moves on to ‘positioning’. Peter’s whole body is very flexible and limber, making it very easy to manipulate. “Make yourself comfy, baby.”

 

Peter’s placed carefully onto the webbing, his back and wings instantly immobile. Tony pushes his legs up until the prey’s knees are stuck, leaving Peter completely bared. The sight of that tight pink passage distracts Tony from his mission, winking at him playfully and begging to be touched. . . He sucks on his pointer finger, bringing it to Peter’s entrance to tease. “There’s not a single part of you that isn’t beautiful. . .” As much as Tony would like to taste this part of Peter, it’s impossible with how they’re arranged. Another time.

 

“Oh, Tony,” Peter gushes, shivering. His cock begins to fill out again. 

 

Tony gets to work preparing his small lover, stretching Peter’s pink entrance witha generous amount of spit and fingers. Even when the spider’s got four soaked digits stuffed inside him, Peter still murmurs worryingly about the lack of lubrication. Tony quells any anxieties with, “My cock is really sloppy, baby. It’s gonna slide right in and feel so  _good_ .”

 

Slowly removing his fingers, Tony takes a step back and situates himself on his bent back legs. This causes his underside to tilt upwards, giving Peter an eyeful of what he’s in for.

 

Lolling out of its sheath, is the biggest cock Peter has seen in his life. Granted, he hasn’t seen many, but that’s beside the point. It’s nearly as thick as the butterfly’s forearm and just as long. Ridges and bumps cover the purple shaft, but they appear to be natural instead of diseases. It’s so heavy and dense that it hangs despite how valiantly it tries to erect itself. The most bizarre feature (after getting over all of that) is the tampered head. The actual shape isn’t so unusual, but what Peter would peg as Tony’s urethra is far bigger than what it should be. It’s the size of a big pebble, or maybe even a small rock! And finally, as Tony mentioned, it’s secreting copious amounts of natural lube. 

 

Before Peter can say anything, Tony is reaching down to grasp his cock, intent on putting that monstrous thing inside Peter. _Inside_ him ! Does Tony really think that’s going to fit?

 

Although words are lost on him, Peter’s frightened visage speaks volumes. Tony coos reassuringly. “Don’t worry, sweetpea. It’ll only hurt for a moment, then I’ll make you see stars, okay?” 

 

The tampered head make it easy for the massive cock to slip inside. It’s when Tony goes to press further that Peter feels the overwhelming stretch. It‘s absolutely  _massive_ , not anything like what he’s biologically meant to go into his body. The sensation has the butterfly whining and groaning, focusing attention on Tony’s face.

 

Tony’s eyes are closed, head reared back. His near palpable pleasure distracts Peter momentarily. It’s very satisfying to see his effect on Tony, what he’s providing him with by simply laying back and taking it. The spider is grunting like he’s just ran a marathon, more expressive than Peter’s ever seen him. 

 

Eventually, Tony meets stronger residence and is naturally inclined to push in harder. Peter shrieks at the sensation, drawing the spider’s attention. “Petey?” he pants.

 

“So much, Tony,” Peter whines, fat tears pooled in the corners of his chocolate eyes. “There’s so m-much. I can’t—I can’t. . .” It might be rather painful, but Peter is still too stubborn to admit defeat. He takes a few calculated breaths. “H-how. . . How much more?” 

 

Tony looks down at where they’re connected. The image of his huge cock stretching Peter’s pink hole tautly will forever be etched in his memory. He can’t help but shift slightly, just to watch a bump pop in and out of Peter’s entrance. “This is enough, sweetpea.” He caresses the butterfly’s sides, where they’re damp with sweat. “God, you’re so gorgeous. Look at you.” Reverent hands move to Peter’s wings. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” Touches his tense tummy. “Bred you.”

 

Being so throughly stuck to spider silk makes it difficult to properly shiver, but Peter’s body tries nonetheless. He whimpers, trying to adjust as effectively as possible. But it seems like it’s just a waiting game. Thankfully Tony doesn’t appear too unhappy with waiting, preoccupying himself with the butterfly’s bound body. “I already feel so full. . .”

 

Leaning down to kiss Peter’s temple, Tony whispers, “You’re gonna feel full for a long time, if I do my job right.” He presses their foreheads together, content to huff hot breath against Peter’s lips until he’s ready.

 

Remarkably, the pressure eases as time goes by. And it isn’t long after that when Peter decides he’d like to get plowed. Gently. 

 

As much as Tony would like to kiss and nibble Peter as they mate, the angle hurts his spine. He draws back again reluctantly before starting to thrust, letting the butterfly decide the rhythm and tempo. 

 

Peter is so  _sticky_ . This lubrication Tony comes with—all expenses paid for—doesn’t let up at all. It drips down Peter’s butt, traveling all the way to the base of his wings. Even though it’s really messy and kind of gross, Peter wonders what it tastes like. . . 

 

The drag of Tony’s cock gets better and better. The ribs and bumps massage Peter’s insides deliciously, giving him an experience he could never achieve with another butterfly. “Oh,  _Tony_ !” He looks at his lover in awe, amazed at how pleasurable everything has become. Peter wasn’t expecting to get much out of this besides intimacy, so this enjoyment is mind blowing. “It’s. . . It’s so good!”

 

Tony laughs. “Don’t sound so surprised, baby.” He humps harder, not shocked to feel something heavier than blood make it’s way towards his cock. 

 

_Squelch, squelch, squelch_ . The wet, raunchy noises make Peter’s cheeked burn even redder, face pinched. “Oh, I’m gonna—“ The onslaught on his prostate wrings out a second orgasm from the poor butterfly. 

 

Watching the small insect scream and writhe in his webbing, perfect little cock shooting seed into the crevices of Peter’s abs, is too hot. So Tony’s body reacts accordingly. The eggs, which had been lazily lining up into position, are pushed suddenly through his shaft at an uncomfortable pace. But the pain isn’t remotely enough to ruin Tony’s orgasm. “Yes!”

 

Peter’s eyes widen, tears escaping. Tony’s hands are on his hips, keeping the spider’s cock as deep inside of him as possible. Not painful, until it’s suddenly bigger. “Ah!” he cries.

 

Tony can’t do much but reassuringly squeeze the butterfly’s hips, moaning as soft eggs start to spurt out of his tip to find a nice, warm home inside Peter. 

 

It hurts! It hurts so badly! Peter’s quickly hysterical with the thought of his death, that this is _killing_ him . But he can’t do much more than openly sob, watching as his normally flat tummy slowly becomes distended. The prospect of having a pregnant belly wasn’t disturbing before, but combined with the pain, it’s  _horrifying_ . 

 

Occasionally the increasing pressure will fault, giving Peter hope that this nightmare is almost over, only for another spurt of eggs to be pumped inside. How much room does he have? Where are they all going? It feels like there’s a million of them inside, and there’s no end in sight. Peter’s going to  _die_ . He isn’t a spider! How did he ever think his body could handle this? 

 

“Shh,” Tony soothes, down from his high as the last batches of eggs aggressively force their way into Peter’s less-than-roomy digestive tract. “You’re almost done, sweetheart. Almost.”

 

Peter continues to cry, even after a significant amount of time has pasted since Tony slowly removed his spent manhood. Tony doesn’t stop comforting the butterfly until the waterworks let up. “Honey?”

 

Without the addition of giant spider cock, the pressure ebbs while the eggs settle themselves. Peter breathes heavily, finding it uncomfortable to  _exist_ . 

 

“Wow. . .” Unable to help himself, Tony strokes the sensitive skin stretched across Peter’s huge, uneven belly. If he pushed hard enough, the spider is sure he could move the eggs around from the outside. “You did it, baby.” He smooches the side of the butterfly’s face. “Look how well I bred you.”

 

Peter blinks lethargically at the preening spider, wishing he had the energy to poke fun at Tony’s pride. “Uh,” he groans.

 

Tony pets the butterfly’s matted hair. “Why don’t you take a nap, sweetheart? I think you’ve earned it.” He gently kisses Peter’s nose, clicking.

 

The familiar noise is just as pleasantly eerie as before, angelically ricocheting off the cave walls. Peter uses all his remaining strength to mumble, “Chirp for me.”

 

“Chirp? It’s not a—“ Tony takes pity on his exhausted conquest, sighing. He kisses Peter again before snuggling close, chirping periodically until the egg-stuffed insect is lulled into a well-deserved sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tired to fetishize the egg stuff as much as possible, hope everyone enjoyed! Peter did, I promise <3

**Author's Note:**

> please comment, it’s how I feed


End file.
